


Snap Out Of It

by CautionaryTales



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist!Grantaire, Canadian AU, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Enjolras is kind of a dick but that doesn't really surprise anyone, F/M, M/M, Multi, Speech Disorders, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, grantaire just can't hold his tongue around enjolras, mentions of parental abuse, takes place in the mystical land of Canada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionaryTales/pseuds/CautionaryTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire stutters when he speaks, so he makes an effort not to speak to anyone other than his roommate and his best friend.  Being an art student allows him to shut himself in his apartment and work on projects for hours on end.  He is completely content with his self-induced isolation until Feuilly voices concern and talks him into coming to a social activism meeting.  Plot ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire looked up from the sketchbook in his lap when he heard the front door to his dingy apartment slam shut.  To be fair, he really only glanced away long enough to see his roommate shuffle into the room.  He continued drawing as he felt the couch dip, the result of Feuilly flopping down next to him.  The sad lump of grey furniture probably used to have springs at some point in time, most likely when it was first purchased in the ‘70s.  It had been found on a curb, thrown out by its previous owners, and lovingly adopted by the broke university students.  Now it sat in the centre of their small student apartment, facing the tiny television and Feuilly’s impressive collection of DVDs. 

“So...”  Feuilly tossed his hat that advertised Domino’s Pizza across the room and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his work uniform.  “We should do something fun tonight since I got off work so early.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, still not looking away from his work.  He had four sketches due the next day and, in a shocking turn of events, had left them until the last minute.

“Mhmm?” he hummed, which Feuilly took as affirmation, smiling as he spun toward Grantaire and crossed his legs.  Sitting sideways on the couch, head propped on his hands, he waited for R’s attention.

Sighing, Grantaire placed his pencil in the fold of the sketchbook and put it down, stretching and turning to face his roommate.

“Okay, so, I heard about this new club on campus a few weeks ago and my friend Combeferre- the guy with the glasses who works library shifts with me- told me I should come.”  Feuilly paused, continuing when he received a small nod from the other boy.  “Well, I asked him if I could bring a friend and he said it was okay because the group always wants more people to come to their meetings.  You should really get out of the house for a bit, you haven’t made any friends and it’s been a month since school started.  It will be good for you, I promise.  What do you say?”

“Alright,” Grantaire mumbled, running a hand through his unruly black curls, trying to remember if he had any clean clothes left in his closet.  “G-give m-m-m-me a se-s-second t-to ch-chan-n-ge.”

“Dude, if you’re nervous about it, I’m not going to force you to go.” 

Grantaire almost laughed at how quickly the expression on Feuilly’s face went from excitement to concern; he really was a good friend.  “I’m f-fine, ‘s b-bad ‘c-cause I haven’t had a d-d-drink in a wh-whi-wh... few hours.”

“Okay, I’m just going to grab something to eat while you get changed. Take your time.”

Feuilly rolled gracelessly over the back of the couch, a soft thump sounding as he hit the floor.  Walking into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and wrinkled his nose.  Beer, various condiments, and a few wrinkled tomatoes lined the shelves.  Shutting the door, he turned his back to the fridge, poking his head out the pass through.  Grantaire was still sitting on the couch in the living room, he had continued drawing as soon as Feuilly left.

“Remember what I said about taking your time?”  Grantaire grunted in response, biting the end of his pencil as he took an eraser to part of the page.  “Yeah, I lied.  There’s no food in the kitchen and I’m starving, so if you aren’t ready in five minutes my stomach is taking precedence over my concern for your social life.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, closing the sketchbook and tucking it under his arm before placing the pencil behind his ear.  He stood up and walked past the entrance to the kitchen, down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Four minutes!”  Feuilly called after him, voice trailing off as Grantaire closed his door and began the arduous search for a clean pair of pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter of this fic. Please feel free to leave criticism and offers if you would like to beta future chapters. The next update should occur within a week or so.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire watched Feuilly walk into the Tim Horton’s that he’d been a regular customer at for a few years. He could just see his friend’s bright ginger hair over top of a display advertising some kind of sweet new coffee flavour. While Feuilly waited in the long line, Grantaire unlatched his seatbelt so he could pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. He had found them draped over his hamper and they smelled relatively clean so he had decided to put them on. However, R was beginning to notice little splatters of paint that had escaped his attention in the dim light of the bedroom. Maybe he should have checked the laundry instead.

Fingers shaking, he flipped open his leather wallet and plucked a cigarette from one of its compartments. After sifting through the contents of the car’s glove box, the man found a lighter, fumbling with the switch as he brought it to the cigarette that was dangling from his lips. As soon as the flame caught, he took a deep drag, head dropping back when he exhaled.

Grantaire sat for a few moments, enjoying the familiar bitter taste as smoke filled his mouth. He felt his body relax into the seat with each breath; it was a nice feeling. Trying to cut down on smoking and drinking had made his stutter worse over the past few weeks with nothing to distract him from the anxious thoughts tumbling about his brain. On one hand, Grantaire really needed to be sober in order to focus on school, but on the other, he hadn’t been able to have an actual conversation with anyone since orientation night. That was the last time he had been absolutely wasted, about a month ago. Since then Grantaire had only experienced the pleasant buzz of a glass or so, to take the edge off his cravings. Cigarettes had been sparse as well. He couldn’t smoke during class and leaving in the middle of a lecture wasn’t an option either. He also couldn’t afford to be buying as many as he was used to with school expenses to worry about now.

In hindsight, Feuilly was right to be worried about him. Last time he tried to quit, Grantaire had been locked up in his room for most of the summer before his senior year of high school, refusing to see anyone. It didn’t go very well; he ended up draining most of the bottles of liquor in his house, knowing to avoid the wine that was part of his foster parents’ prized collection. When his parents found him, he was far from conscious and they had immediately called an ambulance. Feuilly found out the next day and had to be escorted out of the hospital room when the nurses heard him yelling at Grantaire. It wasn’t R’s first experience with alcohol poisoning, but that didn’t mean that Feuilly was used to it. He had been nervous when Grantaire said that he was going to try to quit again. Dragging the artist out to join a club was probably his way of trying to ensure a different outcome.

Grantaire jumped, startled out of his reverie when someone rapped loudly on his window. As soon as he opened his eyes and saw who was behind the glass, the left side of his mouth twitch upward.

“Hey ‘Ponine,” he said, after struggling to roll the window down, mentally cursing the crank system in Feuilly’s ancient car.

“Hey loser, what are you doing here?” Èponine leaned against the vehicle, reaching through the window to ruffle Grantaire’s hair. She stole the cigarette from its place between his lips and made a face at the taste. “And what is this shit? I thought you only bought Marlboro.”

“I’m here w-with Fe-Feuilly. He’s t-taking me to a m-m-meeting, some kind of social j-justice thing at a c-café downtown.” Grantaire ignored her inquiry about the brand, she was always complaining about his smokes.

“I’ll see you there, then.” At the man’s questioning look, Éponine explained, “one of the guys in my dorm, Marius, invited me when he heard me Skyping with Cosette. I’m heading there now, just have to pick up a few things. She’s doing well by the way, planning on applying to University here so we won’t have to continue with this long distance bullshit. I swear, that girl was could have graduated with us last year, the nerd. Top of her class again so far and she’s the Prime Minister of the student council.”

Grantaire smiled at this; he was fond of Cosette. Although she was a year younger than him, they had become fast friends in high school when they met in the art room after classes had finished for the day. Grantaire had introduced the little blonde thing to Éponine, who had been his friend for a few years already. He was worried that the older girl’s prickly and blunt disposition would scare her away. Fortunately, Cosette had thought she was hilarious and the three of them, along with Feuilly, stuck together for the next three years.  

“Anyhow, she was telling me about her brother,” Éponine continued, “and his unhealthy obsession with social justice. Apparently her dad didn’t want him to come all the way to London for University. He has a propensity for being in the middle of chaos, attending protests, helping rile up crowds, giving angry speeches, the whole bit. I guess he got arrested twice a few years ago, once for being a part of a riot and the other for starting one. His dad did end up letting him come here and one of the first things the kid did was set up a social justice group with some friends. The meeting should be interesting; seriously, from what Cosette said it sounds like the man gets a boner every time he gives a speech, I mean he even- sorry, not important.   Anyway, apparently Marius knows her brother because he’s in one of his classes. He was invited to the meeting as well and asked me if I wanted to see what it was like. He’s cute and he seemed pretty nervous about going because the only person he knows is his roommate, so why not?”

“Hmmm, is M-Marius the one w-w-with the f-freckles?” Grantaire asked, waggling his eyebrows at Éponine. She had been calling R every few days to vent about how beautiful the boy across the hall was, describing his soft voice, even softer-looking hair, and adorable freckles. It was almost scary how out-of-character it was for her to speak that way about someone and he couldn’t remember the last time she pined over anyone like this.

“Yes he is, did you know tha-”

“I’m p-putting f-five bucks on him being g-g-gay, kn-knowing your luck.”

“You shut your whore mouth, that was one time.”

“What has Grantaire been doing with his mouth?” Feuilly slipped into his car, handing Grantaire the cardboard drink holder after taking his own coffee out.

“He’s just jealous that he won’t be able to get laid and find another use for that pretty mouth of his.”

“And that is all I need to hear, thank you _very_ much,” Feuilly laughed as he bit into a muffin while struggling to get his keys out of his pocket.

When he managed to put them in the ignition and start the car, Éponine pushed herself from Grantaire’s door. Feuilly shifted into reverse and turned to the open window, “I do not need details about my friends’ sex lives despite what you two seem to think.”

“You’re missing out,” Éponine called as she walked away toward her car.

Feuilly put his drink in the cup holder, pulling out of the parking lot. “Do I even want to ask?”

“She’s just p-pining after this g-g-guy who inv-vited her to the m-meeting we’re going to.”

“Great, that means I’ll be graced with another drunk recount of the history of her sex life in a week or so.” Feuilly grimaced, shaking his head. The rest of the drive consisted of Grantaire doodling in the condensation on the window and Feuilly singing along to the radio.

As Feuilly pulled into a parking space about ten minutes later, he took out piece of paper with barely legible scribbles on it; the address of the meeting place presumably. “The café that the meeting’s at is down there. It’s called The Musain, I think?”

He turned the paper upside down, squinting at it again, before rotating it once more, shrugging, and shoving it back into his pocket. “Alright, ‘Taire. You ready?”

“Sure, as l-long as you p-promise to buy me a drink when we g-g-get there.” Grantaire pulled the sketchbook he always kept in the backseat with him as he got out of the car.

“Buy your own, I don’t get my paycheque for another two days.”

“From which j-job? Really, you c-can’t afford to buy m-m-me one p-pint with all the hours you work?”

“Asshole.”

“It’s t-true, you are a w-workaholic.”

“And you’re still an asshole... One who will have student loan debts for the next thirty years, come on.”

Chuckling, Grantaire followed his friend down the street. He pulled the zipper on his leather jacket closer to his chin as he felt the wind bite into his neck.

When the two men neared the café, they heard shouting from within, but the only thing on R’s mind was the warm seat and cold beer that would be waiting for him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter, a lot longer than the first, thankfully. A big thanks to lesbianmisunderstood for helping me through some of the thought process and providing ideas for new chapters. Shout out to my friend tipsytveit for proofreading for me as well. The next update should be coming soon, I have to work out a few kinks and will be busy with school again soon. Thanks for reading. :)


	3. Chapter 3

            As soon as Feuilly and Grantaire entered The Musain, their eyes were drawn to a large group of students who were boisterously having a discussion at the back of the room. Grantaire immediately made his way to the bar, sighing and taking a seat when he noticed that the bartender was otherwise occupied with someone else. A man with very dark skin and no hair, save for his eyebrows, was chatting with her, laughing at something she said before noticing Grantaire waiting and waving goodbye. She smiled back at the man and walked over to take R’s order. He asked for a beer, thinking that it wasn’t any wonder the boy had been flirting with her.

She had beautiful olive skin and dark hair that surrounded her head in tight, somewhat frizzy curls. He tried to memorize the shape of her profile, planning on drawing her if the meeting turned out to be uninteresting. It would be a nice piece to submit for the four-sketch assignment he had been working on before Feuilly had asked him out to this meeting.

He wasn’t happy with the drawing he had started at home and made a note to find three more people to sketch before he left. It shouldn’t be too difficult; the students, who were getting louder by the minute, were an eclectic group. There were more than enough people whom he would enjoy capturing in graphite, expressions and features frozen on paper.

Feuilly appeared beside him, eyebrow raised, clearly amused at Grantaire’s blatant staring.

“There you are,” the woman turned around, placing the drink in front of Grantaire before glancing over at Feuilly. “Anything for you?”

“No thanks, Muse, uh... Musie...” Feuilly frowned.

“You pronounce it Musichetta,” she said, smiling. “Don’t worry, most people don’t get it right on the first try.”

“Sorry, I’m a language major, I should really know how to say that” Feuilly joked before nodding his head toward the gaggle of students. “Come on, R.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire smiled at Musichetta before he walked away.

“Anytime.”

Grantaire and Feuilly found a table on the outskirts of the group to sit at until the meeting officially started. Combeferre was busy discussing a pile of papers with another man who was wearing suspenders and a bow tie that was quite frankly offensive, in Grantaire’s opinion. R knew that Feuilly would wait to talk to his co-worker until after he was finished so as not to interrupt.

“Excuse me?” a voice rose above the commotion, effectively causing everyone else to fall silent. “What did you just say to me?”

“I just pointed out that considering conservative viewpoints might allow you to reach a larger audience.” A rather small young man spoke, and from the number of freckles spackling his face, Grantaire would wager that he was Marius. He looked like he was part of a boy band, light brown hair tousled with product, his shoulders placed in an elegant slouch. From his spotless converse, to the loose fitting t-shirt that clung to his body in all the right places, Grantaire was more than a little shockedthat Éponine went for the pretty, rich boy.Marius definitely wasn’t Grantaire’s type, but the boy was undeniably attractive. However, he did not look like someone who would usually catch Éponine’s interest. Most of her past boyfriends drove motorcycles and were perpetually clad in leather. They were certainly nothing like the carefully rumpled trust fund kid standing in front of Grantaire. Although, to be fair, he had just had time to glance at Marius before Grantaire’s eyes sought out the person he was conversing with.

The man, who now commanded all of the artist’s attention, snorted, walking over to Marius to respond. Although he looked murderous, this man was absolutely gorgeous, his pale skin haloed by a mass of blonde curls.

 _Like an angel_ , Grantaire thought before mentally kicking himself. _What, are you five? He’s just a really pretty man, get a hold of yourself, R._ Besides, the guy wasn’t just beautiful, he was tall and lithe and, _god_ , the things Grantaire would love to do to him. _No,_ a voice at the back of his mind protested, _don’t do this to yourself, he’s out of your league anyway._

“Consider conservative- Are you serious?” the beautiful man’s cheeks were tinged pink as his frustration built and he seemed about ready to explode. “Those people are the oppressors; they have decidedly chosen to keep harmful practices and ideologies as a part of their mantra throughout the years. No one can be that oblivious to the strife that is happening around them every day. They are content to sit back and count their money while convincing their followers that nothing is wrong. Mind you, these people have been taught to believe that anything they hear spewed from the poison mouths of the old, middle-aged, white men in the conservative party must be undoubtedly true. Don’t you dare come in here and tell me that I need to be fairer to the people who are, in of themselves, the problem. The notion that I need to accommodate the viewpoints of people who insist that anyone who isn’t a straight male of European descent doesn’t deserve the same _basic_ human rights is ridiculous. They need to realize that admitting their faults is the only way to move forward and it is the job of Les Amis to make this happen. Once we change their minds, maybe the Senate will actually start passing bills that improve the lives of the people.”

 _Does he seriously believe this shit?_ Grantaire mused into his bottle before taking another swig. _Fuck if he does, there will be a mountain of disappointment waiting for him when he figures out the world doesn’t work like that_. He distracted himself with these thoughts, trying to push away the feelings of attraction that were curling up through his chest. It was apparent as soon as the man opened his mouth that he was too good for Grantaire, pursuing any kind of lustful thought would be fruitless. Despite his best efforts though, his heart leapt to attention every time this beautiful creature spoke.

“I understand, but they are people too, and considering some of their more valid view might be beneficial.” Marius tried valiantly to respond to the other man’s verbal lashing. “Now my grandfather is friends with a premier who-”

“Get out.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, apology accepted. Now get out of my meeting.” The blonde man looked as though he was seriously considering throwing Marius out himself. Grantaire’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his bottle harder, Enjolras’ irritation really shouldn’t be that hot.

“But-”

“I’ll take him out, Enj,” the man with the hideous bow tie stood up and put his arm around Marius’ shoulder. “Come on Pontmercy, I’ll walk you home.”

“I just got here though, and he’s the one being rude. Don’t you think-”

Bow Tie man leaned close to Marius as he passed by Grantaire and Feuilly’s table and said, “I’m doing you a favour, man. I don’t want to have to find another roommate after I help Enjolras bury your body, okay?”

Grantaire was barely paying attention to the men’s conversation, eyes still glued to the front of the room. Enjolras was pacing, face flushed a pretty red as Combeferre leaned over the table, obviously trying to calm his friend down.

Marius paled considerably at that comment and nodded, the other man laughed and shook his head as they walked out. When his companion pushed open the door however, there was a person standing in his way. He jolted to a stop before he ran into the figure, flinging Marius to the side.

“Oh, hey, Marius. Where are you going?” Éponine stepped around the other man and out of the cold, eyes lighting up as she saw him.

“I’m, uh, I’m actually just leaving?” Marius seemed uncertain of this fact even though he was already almost out the door.   “I think I might have angered Cosette’s brother, so Courfeyrac’s taking me home.” He gestured vaguely in the general direction where his friend had been standing.

“The boy says ‘might have.’ There is no hope for you Pontmercy,” Courfeyrac chuckled and started pushing Marius out of the door. “Sorry, love, I’m taking him home before Enjolras lets loose his ungodly wrath upon this café.”

“Oh, okay then,” Éponine’s smile tightened as she waved to Marius. As soon as the door closed, she searched around the Musain, relaxing a little when she found her friends sitting at their secluded table.

Meanwhile, Grantaire was trying not to choke on his beer. That couldn’t possibly be Cosette’s brother; he refused to be the person who had a weird crush on his best friend’s sibling. Whenever Cosette mentioned him, Grantaire always pictured a more masculine version of her. There weren’t any photographs of the siblings in Cosette’s house to use as reference, either.

When Grantaire first found out she had an older brother, he was surprised. Before that point, he had simply assumed the girl was an only child. Cosette had explained that Enjolras had already been sent off to military school by their father the year she met Grantaire. He’d gotten himself arrested twice during the summer before his second last year of high school, and Valjean had put his foot down. Within a few weeks, Enjolras had been shipped off to military school somewhere in the United States to finish his last two years of school before university.

Grantaire had nodded, sorting through that information before asking if that was the reason for the lack of personal pictures in her house. The walls were decorated with artwork and photographs of buildings and landscapes. Cosette had shaken her head, saying she was happy that the fallout between the two hadn’t been that bad. The truth was that Valjean never displayed any pictures of his children because they reminded the man too much of his deceased wife, Fantine. Apparently Enjolras had inherited his mother’s eyes and blonde curls and grew up to look quite a lot like her. Cosette had a head full of thick blonde ringlets as well, but most of her features resembled her father. From her slightly upturned nose to her kind brown eyes, she was clearly Valjean’s child. However, the similarities between mother and child were still fairly prevalent. It was too painful for Valjean to have a reminder like that placed around his home. The conversation had ended when Cosette started shifting uncomfortably the couch the two were sharing. She said that this had been a touchy subject between father and son for quite some time and she felt uneasy talking about it. Cosette never minded, she said that, although she didn’t quite understand her father’s decision, she accepted it as a part of his prolonged mourning. Enjolras, however, did not share the same viewpoint and became quite heated whenever it was mentioned.

Grantaire didn’t remember ever wondering about it again, accepting the image of the boy in his head as a substitute for Enjolras anytime someone talked about him.

Snapping out of his reverie as Éponine straddled the chair next to him, Grantaire nodded at her, taking another drink from his bottle. Sketchbook forgotten, he spent the remainder of the meeting lapsing back and forth between listening to the meeting and trying to sort through his newfound feelings for Cosette’s brother.

As the discussion drew to a close, the students began packing up and Enjolras finally noticed the trio lingering at the edge of the group. A smile broke out onto his face as he proclaimed, “It seems we have new recruits. Care to introduce yourselves?”

The commotion in the room seemed to stop as eight faces turned toward the back of the room. Combeferre gave a small nod in Feuilly’s direction before continuing to sort through the enormous mess of papers that people had been tossing at him all night.

“I’m Feuilly, Combeferre invited me. It’s nice to meet you all,” Feuilly smiled at the group and winked at Combeferre when he resurfaced from his mountain of paperwork again. “I’m interested in learning more about your proposed campaigns that deal with improving conditions for homeless youth; it’s a subject that hits close to home for me.”

Enjolras nodded, considering this information before asking if Feuilly wanted to help Combeferre with his planning as he is in charge of that specific campaign. The other man’s ginger curls bounced as he accepted the offer, obviously pleased with his newfound responsibility.

“Don’t give him anything else to do, he’s already working himself to death as it is.” Éponine’s comment was met with a raised brow from Enjolras. She quickly returned this glance with a look that could only be described as predatory. “The name’s Éponine. So, tell me, what does a girl have to do around here to get into your pants? Because, may I just say, that ass is _divine_.”

Courfeyrac’s laugh rang out again as Enjolras spluttered, ears going red. “Yes, well, that’s... erm... And who are you?”

A pang of fear coursed through Grantaire’s body as his eyes rose to meet Enjolras’. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this update, my chapters seem to be getting longer as I continue. I'm going to be quite busy preparing for exams during the next few weeks, so no promises about new chapters any time soon. That said, I will try my hardest to write as much as I can on my spare time so that I can get the next one up fairly quickly. Big thanks again to LesbianMisunderstood for helping me develop the fic, and to tipsytveit for a reading this at one in the morning. :)


	4. Chapter 4

“Well?”  Enjolras tilted his head expectantly toward Grantaire whose mouth was working around unspoken words.

R bit his lip before ducking his head and mumbling something unintelligible into his beer.  He filled his mouth with the alcohol, slowly swallowing it in an attempt to gather his nerves into something that generally resembled courage. 

“Enjolras, we have a problem,” Combeferre called from where he was still rifling through papers, brow furrowed as he regarded one of them.

Enjolras threw a hand up in acknowledgement of his friend before tilting his head in Grantaire’s direction.  “Pardon?”

The man in question closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking back up.

“R,” he said a little louder this time, forming the sound carefully. 

Enjolras nodded solemnly, as though he was the recipient of some quantity of gravely important information.  Combeferre called him again, the urgency in his voice clear and Enjolras began to walk backwards toward the table at the front of the room.

“It was nice to meet you all, I hope to see your faces during future meetings.  Thank you for your offer as well Feuilly, I’m sure Combeferre will appreciate your help with his work.”

Enjolras finally turned and left the three friends; as soon as he was out of earshot, Éponine snorted.

“He sure has a stick up his ass.”

Feuilly smirked and reached around Grantaire to shove her with his hand, “he means well, and you’d never know how terrible his people skills are from listening to his speeches.”

“Someone needs to teach that boy to flirt,” Éponine continued, shaking her head at her friend, “he could have a lot of fun with that pretty face of his, nobody in their right mind would turn him down.”

“Jesus- okay, despite the belief system you’ve developed for yourself from god knows where, sex isn’t the answer to everything.”

“I resent that opinion.”  She paused to think.  “Mostly because it’s incorrect.”

“Subjective opinions can’t be-“

“When is the last time you put your dick in someone sexy?”

“Éponine!” Feuilly’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. 

“That’s what I thought,” Éponine smirked.  “Now let’s see...  The bartender is hot, I saw you flirting with her, no don’t try to deny it, you were talking language shit with her.  I’ve seen how much words turn you on, it’s freaky.  Actually, come to think of it, Combeferre is kind of sexy in a weird schoolboy way.  You work with him at the library right?” she tilted her head, considering the options, “yes, this could work.”

At this point, Feuilly had all but given up his protests.  He was practically lying on the table, arms stretched in front of him, fingers twitching every so often.  When Éponine finished her rant, he rolled to the side and let out a groan.

“Why am I friends with you again?”

“Because I’m the girl who’s going to get you laid with a sexy librarian, now hush, I’m working out his weak points.”

“Oh my god,” a soft voice came from behind the group, sounding at once horrified and elated.

Grantaire had been silent up until this point, focusing on steadying his breathing.  Listening to his friends’ banter always helped him calm down after experiencing situations that aggravated his anxiety.  The constant stream of bickering and noise was always somewhat therapeutic.  When the new voice sounded behind the table he opened his eyes and turned around.

“P-P-Prouvaire?” Grantaire’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline.

“Hey, ‘Taire, fancy seeing you here,” the speaker smiled giving a little wave to Feuilly who was still sprawled out on the furniture, but had managed to manoeuvre himself to face the newcomer.  “Your friend sounds like the female version of Courf.”

“Sh-she really is,” he replied as Feuilly whimpered from beneath his arm.

“And it looks like you two have the same fashion sense,” Éponine muttered.  The petit boy in front of her was wearing a red and blue plaid button up over a lilac t-shirt.  His pants were a study in awful flower prints that belonged on curtains in an old woman’s house.  Scuffed Doc Martins that looked two sizes too big clung to his feet.  A fishtail braid held his auburn hair in place, ending just under his ribs, completing the strange ensemble.  The man looked as though he had thrown his outfit together by borrowing pieces of clothing from a few strangers and tossing them on.

Standing up, Grantaire pulled Prouvaire into a tight embrace, laughing when one of the flowers woven into the man’s hair tangled with his own. 

After the men detached themselves, Prouvaire turned around and put his hand out toward Feuilly and Éponine.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’m Jean Prouvaire,” after he had shaken both hands, and learned their names he added, “if you’re nice to me and tell me that you love my poetry, I may permit you to call me Jehan.”

“I’m calling you Jehan anyway, it’s easier and I’m lazy,” Éponine leaned back on her chair, regarding the boy in front of her.  “I’m sure you kick ass at pretty words, but I’m not making any promises to be nice.  It isn’t really my thing.”

Jehan looked uncertainly at Grantaire before Feuilly rolled his eyes, and said, “don’t listen to her, she pretends to be scary, but she doesn’t bite.”

“I will if you ask nicely,” Éponine flashed a quick smile up at Jehan who was undeterred by her antics.

“You should know that I am planning to accept that offer at some point in the near future,” he replied quickly, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers to twirl.

Jehan’s painted fingers deftly began plucking strands forward to braid, black nails poking through as he wove.

Éponine began to turn around so that she could face Jehan, looking as though she was going to speak.  She soon thought better of it when the boy grabbed her chin and gently, but firmly, nudged her back. 

Sighing, she spoke, staring across the room, “so how do you two know each other?  No offense R,” Éponine turned to her friend, “but you don’t really get out much.”

Jehan placed a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder before he could respond and said, “we have sculpture and artistic vision together, I met him on the first day.  He was sitting alone, made a point of not making eye contact with anyone.  I decided that he needed a friend and here we are: besties.” 

Grantaire mock grimaced, “Yeah, h-h-here w-we are b-because you w-wouldn’t st-sto-shut up, st-tubborn little f-fucker.”

“I am delightful.”

“Y-you sat and r-r-read K-Keats t-to me for an hour on th-the f-first day.”

“He is a great author, besides-”

“An _hour_.  A f-fucking hour of p-poetry Jehan; d-do you know w-w-wh-what p-poetry does to m-me?”

“It lightens the burdens of the soul and puts into words the beauty of a thousand possibilities, today, tomorrow, and yesterday.” 

“F-for f-fucks sake...”

Feuilly had been trying to muffle his laughter and found that he no longer could the precise moment Jehan started waxing lyrical.  “Don’t kid yourself Jehan, he really doesn’t like you.”

The man assumed a hurt expression, “whatever do you mean?”

“That’s the most I’ve heard R say to another person in the past month, he wouldn’t reply unless you royally piss him off.”

“Hmm, interesting,” a wicked grin spread across his face, “and what of our dear friend Enjolras.”

Grantaire scowled, “what about him?”

“You seemed rather... put off by his idealistic mannerisms, no fiery responses for his benefit?  Don’t look at me like that, I was here at the beginning of the meeting, I saw the way you were staring at him.”

“Th-that’s not th-the same.”

“Is it not?  I mean, I don’t blame you, he is exceptionally attractive.”

“J-just d-d-drop it.”

“I happen to know he’s single if that changes anything.”

“It d-doesn’t m-matter.”

“Seriously, I’m amazing at setting people up, you know Bossuet and-”

“I said drop it.”  Grantaire had lost his playful tone, something sharp and metallic decorating the edges of his voice.  Feuilly had suddenly found his phone incredibly fascinating and Éponine was pointedly staring at the wall even though Jehan had long since finished with her hair. 

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably in his seat until Jehan met his eyes again, “I’m sorry, R, I wasn’t thinking.”

“’S okay.”

Silence descended upon the small group for a few minutes, unbroken tension hanging heavy in the air. 

Jehan cleared his throat and looked around before inquiring, “What are you doing here anyway?  I never see you outside of class.”

Grantaire was now playing with his fingers, refusing to look up.  Feuilly sighed and answered for his friend.

“Combeferre invited me to the meeting and I thought it would be good for Grantaire to go with me.”

“That makes sense...” Jehan didn’t seem to know what to do with that.  It became clear after a few more seconds that he was not truly seeking an answer, but simply trying to remedy the atmosphere his persistence had created.

Éponine sat up, “I was supposed to meet Marius here, but he had to leave for some reason, which is why I’m stuck with these two idiots.”

“Pontmercy had to leave because he is a little twat,” Courfeyrac appeared beside Jehan, eyes flicking between the boy and Grantaire, who was still making an effort not to meet anyone’s eyes.  He shrugged, deciding that it was better not to comment on the situation. 

Jehan flicked Courfeyrac’s ear, “be polite; Éponine, Grantaire, Feuilly, this is Courf.”  He gestured to each of them as a means of introduction.

Courfeyrac nodded absently, smiling down at Jehan before the boy turned to give him an inquisitive glance. 

He jumped a little, eyes darting downward before he cleared his throat, gaze latching onto Éponine, “I already like you, making Enj squirm is my favourite game.”

“I think it’s very quickly going to become mine, too,” Éponine stood up and grinned at Courf, running her hand down his chest.  She leaned into his ear before saying, “And, just a warning, I can get _very_ competitive.”

She hooked a finger in the loop of his bowtie and tugged, letting her breath ghost over his ear a final time.  When he exhaled shakily, she made a pleased noise and tossed her hair back.  Éponine walked past him, making her way through the maze of tables in the direction of the washrooms.

“Oh, she’s good; damn,” Courf looked like a child on Christmas.  “I think we’re going to be great friends.”

Jehan laughed, “I was just saying that you two are uncannily similar.”

“Right, sorry, I came over here for a reason,” something changed on Courf’s face, playfulness slipping away, leaving a professional air behind.  “’Ferre found some inconsistencies with the payments that we made to that charity last week.”

“What?  Who-”

Courf held out a hand to stop his friend, “don’t worry, nothing on our end, it looks like there was a discrepancy with distribution of funds on their part.”

“What do you mean?”

“We put five thousand in, only three went to their cause.  Combeferre wants you to pull up the paperwork for the transaction so that we have evidence to get this sorted out.”

“Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Wait,” Feuilly said.  “I’ve dealt with numerous charities before and it’s impossible to see what happens to donations after they’ve received them.  How did you find out about where your money went?”

“Combeferre is very... talented with computers.  He has a way of finding information that we need.” 

Courfeyrac turned back to Jehan, but Feuilly interrupted again, “he’s a _hacker_?”

“I said no such thing,” Courf clutched a hand to his chest dramatically before tilting his head conspiratorially in Feuilly’s direction.  “Although, what I did or did not say has nothing to do with the fact that his fingers are very good at accidentally typing in encrypted passwords.  But that’s neither here nor there.”  A pause.  “Unless you have a thing for hands.”

“Oh my god, we actually are the same person,” Éponine had returned and was staring at Courf.  “And might I just say, you’re alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Dear lord,”  Feuilly fumbled with his phone, “one second, I need to get this on camera, cherish this moment Courf, Éponine has never given a compliment before.”

“ _That_ was a compliment?”  Jehan raised an eyebrow.

“Hush, we must commemorate this moment with respect.”

“Y-you guys, are l-l-losers.” Grantaire rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from his chair.  “I’ll b-be in the c-c-car.”

Éponine’s jovial tone sobered quickly, “are you alright, R?”

“Yeah, j-just t-t-tired, t-take your t-t-time Feuilly, I d-don’t m-mind waiting.”

With that, Grantaire walked out of the Musain, black curls in stark contrast against the snow that had started falling outside. 

“Did I say something to make him uncomfortable?”  Courfeyrac looked concerned.

“Nah, it’s just been a long day,” Feuilly wiped a hand across his brow before gathering his things, “I should probably drive him home, I bet he’s wiped.”

“No,” Courf caught Feuilly’s shoulder, worry morphing into uncertainty as he paused, searching for the right words.  “Not, that; I mean... does he usually- um...”

Éponine took pity and cut him off, “yeah, he’s had a stutter for as long as I can remember, the little shit hasn’t left his apartment in weeks because of it.”

“Oh, I see,” Courf nodded, digesting the new information.  “I assume that means he’d appreciate it if it wasn’t a topic of conversation then?”

Feuilly nodded, “that would be great, he’s a little sensitive about it; with good reason, too.”

As Feuilly made his way out of the cafe to join Grantaire in the car, Éponine pulled Courfeyrac’s hand into her own.

Giving it a little squeeze, she said, “thanks for not mentioning Grantaire’s stutter when he was around, Feuilly’s right, it really does bother him.  I’m not going to go into details, because it’s not my story to tell, but he has been through enough shit to last a few fucking lifetimes.  It would really mean a lot to me, to us, if you would keep this quiet until R’s ready to say something.”

Courfeyrac made a little noise of affirmation, tightening his fingers around her hand, “of course.”

With a little smile, he clasped his finger through hers and began to pull her toward the head table where Combeferre and Enjolras were having what looked like a heated discussion with a few other students.

“I think it’s time for the rest of the group to me you, eh?”

“Well I _am_ your other half, how long do you think they would have lasted, not graced with my presence?”

Courfeyrac laughed wickedly, “this is going to be fun, I’m keeping you.”

From the table at the back of the room, Jehan watched the two of them greet his friends.  He had a lot to think about with regards to Grantaire, but that could wait, he needed to sort out the charity mishap before he left the meeting.  Jehan rolled over the table instead of walking around, half listening to Éponine and Courfeyrac’s conversation.  The introductions began when they reached the table and he chuckled to himself.  Enjolras had abruptly turned a startling shade of red and was babbling again.  Courf actually threw his head back with the force of his laughter, while Éponine surveyed the effect she had on the group.  Even Combeferre had to bury his nose in papers to stifle the sound of his laughter.

“May god have mercy on Enjolras’ soul; those two will be the death of him,” Jehan muttered, smiling to himself as he approached his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter, it took me a long time to decide how to write it. As always, feel free to leave comments and criticism behind for me. If you have any suggestions for where the fic could go from here, or little headcanons about characters, please comment. I'd love to read them and little ideas like that are fun to incorporate into the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> An update should happen in a few weeks, I'm can't give a more specific timeline because I'm writing each chapter as I go. A GIANT thank you to lesbianmisunderstood for being the most wonderful BETA I could ask for, she has given me ideas for so many plot points which I will mention when they pop up. Shout out to my best friend tipsytveit for reading everything over as well and encouraging me to continue. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********IMPORTANT**********IMPORTANT**********  
> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: blood, implied past self-harm, excessive alcohol consumption, and mentions of relapse.
> 
> Please avoid this part if any of these triggers apply to you. If you wish to continue reading, upon request, I will post a summary of this chapter (excluding details with regards to any of the above triggers) in the notes of the next one so that you can catch up with the story. :)

Grantaire spent the subsequent week or so after the meeting hiding in his room, using the fact that he was behind on various projects for his studio course as an excuse.  Feuilly, however, was not impressed with this reason, having believed that his friend’s attendance at the social justice meeting was a great success.  He saw no reason for the man to be shutting himself in his room again, hiding behind his school work.

“You’re always behind on your assignments, ‘Taire,” Feuilly was leaning against the door to Grantaire’s room.  He spoke to the room at large, waving a fork that had a few leaves of lettuce speared on it.  The artist’s curls poked out from behind a large canvas, one of many cluttering the room, bouncing and weaving around as he worked. 

“F-fuck off, I’m working,” Grantaire growled, not looking up at his friend even when his paintbrush emerged and flew directly at Feuilly’s head.  Dark red paint flecked across the man’s shirt, trailing to a large splatter on the door where the brush had struck.  Grantaire quickly grabbed another paintbrush from a tin of water that was balanced precariously on his bed and got back to work.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” the words were muffled, spoken around a bite of salad, “and you’re lucky these aren’t my work clothes, I can’t afford to pay for replacements, you know.”

“M-ost of your clothes are y-your work clothes, d-don’t bitch at m-me about it.”

“I’m the one paying half of the rent, you better be thankful for my abundance of uniforms.”

“Th-thank you f-for your g-generous workaholic ass, n-now g-get out of m-my studio.”

“Someone’s touchy today,”  Feuilly lifts his unoccupied hand in mock surrender, “but please have this cleaned off by the time I get home, I’m just going to run some errands.  We’ll run out of paint soon if you keep leaving your oils to dry on the wall, and the cans are expensive.”

“Yeah, s-sure, whatever y-you say, Feuil,” Grantaire waved a hand in dismissal, not seeing Feuilly’s stricken expression at the use of the old nickname.  He hadn’t heard Grantaire call him that since before his relapse, this was the first time.

When his friend didn’t respond, Grantaire peered over his painting.  Feuilly was still standing by the door, but he looked stiff and uncomfortable, bottom lip trembling around the beginnings of a sentence.  He slowly placed his empty bowl and fork onto the small table that was sitting outside of Grantaire’s bedroom and took a few tentative steps closer to his flatmate.

“F-Feuilly?” 

The man in question inhaled deeply and met his roommate’s eyes, shakily mussing his own red hair.  “Grantaire...  How much have you had to drink?” 

Feuilly had noticed that Grantaire wasn’t stumbling over words nearly as often as he usually did.  Thus far, the only known remedy for the man’s speech impediment was copious amounts of alcohol.  The drink did wonders to loosen his tongue, but as a depressant, it had a tendency to place Grantaire in worrying situations when he consumed too much.  This, along with the reappearance of the teasing nickname was enough to have Feuilly genuinely worried about his friend.

The artist visibly flinched away from the question, scowling and retreating behind his canvas again.  “Why d-do you care?”

“Because I know how you get, you did the same thing after orientation and- for FUCKS SAKE, R.”  Grantaire jumped and peered out from behind the canvas again, finally putting his work aside.  He was alarmed, not because Feuilly was practically yelling, but because his voice broke on the familiar nickname.  This worried him because Feuilly was always so controlled, always so reliable and constant and sure. 

The next words were spoken at a whisper, the tone gentle, almost pleading, “please... please don’t shut me out again, I know how you get, okay?  I know it’s difficult but this- this isolation... it’s not healthy.”

“Feuilly, I’m f-fine.”

“No, you don’t get to blow me off like that; tell me that you’re fine and expect me to leave.  I’ve been trying to talk to you all week, R.  Do you know what it’s like to watch you drink yourself away because you’re too scared to live life sober?  No one fucking cares that you stutter, okay?  It’s all in your head and you need to realize that before you lose everyone, you’ve already pushed away the possibility of new friends, what’s next?”

Grantaire’ mouth set itself in a hard line and a muscle in his jaw twitched.  Feuilly instantly knew that he had crossed a line, he began to speak again, trying to find the right words to apologize.

“I don’t mean that... It’s just-”

“What?  Hmm?  I’m too m-much of a failure now?  Are you ash-shamed of me?  I’ve always been too f-fucking useless for anyone to l-love, why did I think it w-would be any different w-with you?”

“No, Grantaire, listen to me.”

The artist was trembling now, entire body shaking with the exertion of holding back sobs.  Grantaire emerged from behind his work, right hand clutching a half-empty beer bottle, left clenched in a fist.

“S-Stop, you don’t have t-to lie to m-me, Feuilly,” Grantaire spit his friend’s name out, mouth twisting around the sound.  “I know w-what people say about m-me, I know that C-C-Courf asked you about m-me when I l-left.  I’m tired of b-being a f-freak.”

The man had crossed the room at this point, shaking his head vigorously back and forth, curls flying in a mass of black around his head.  He was obviously very drunk and Feuilly’s stomach dropped as the artist knocked an easel to the side which had previously been hiding the veritable mountain of bottles that littered the floor.  Grantaire had been doing so well, he had limited himself to a drink here and there when they went out, but nothing more.  All it took was enough stress, from school, from being forced into a situation he was uncomfortable with at the meeting, and he was back to square one.  Feuilly’s heart contracted painfully, wishing that he could do more to help his best friend, that he hadn’t pressured him into meeting Les Amis.  Pushing those thoughts aside, he concentrated on catching Grantaire as the man stumbled into him.  He knew that a relapse was inevitable from the moment the artist had barricaded himself inside their apartment at the beginning of the year.  All Feuilly could do was hope that Grantaire’s most recent social encounter would help him get through this.  The last time he had made a group of friends, Eponine, Feuilly, and Cosette to be precise, his life had drastically improved.  Grantaire had pulled himself through some difficult times with the gentle assistance of his companions, and Feuilly only hoped that Les Amis would be there for him in that way.

 _It has to get better before it gets worse,_ Feuilly told himself, dragging his friend over to the wall to set him down.

Grantaire wavered, hand sliding over Feuily’s shirt as he struggled to find purchase.  The alcohol had caught up with him, causing him to lose his balance. 

 _Fuck,_ Feuilly thought, _he must have had a lot, god knows the boy can hold his liquor._ Peeling Grantaire away from him, he propped the man up against a wall.  In the next moment, his heart stopped for a few seconds when he saw the blood.

 _No,_ Feuilly reached for the arm that wasn’t still holding a bottle, _no no no no no no, god please, no._

A choked-off sob, tinged with relief, bubbled out of the man’s mouth when he found the source.  Grantaire had dug his nails into his palm, biting into the flesh and drawing a small amount of blood.  It was enough, however, that it had stained Feuilly’s shirt, and a few droplets were sluggishly making their way down Grantaire’s arm. 

Feuilly blindly reached for the tissues that Grantaire always kept on his nightstand, knocking the box over with shaking fingers.  He swore colourfully, fumbling a minute before he grabbed a tissue and pressed it to his friend’s hand.  Grantaire was pointedly avoiding eye contact, cycling between staring at the floor and at a point on the wall beyond Feuilly’s head.

“’Taire, come on ‘Taire, look at me,” the red-haired man lightly touched his friend’s arm, relieved when he didn’t flinch away.  Grantaire slowly looked up, a strange expression on his face.  “I need you to tell me honestly, was this an accident because of the beer, or did you do this on purpose?”

            “A shitton of th-things j-just happened, y-you’re gonna have to be m-more specific,” the edge of Grantaire’s mouth was trying to turn upwards, and failing spectacularly.  The imitation smile would have been funny in any other instance, but laughing was the last thing Feuilly felt like doing at that moment.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

A shadow passed over Grantaire’s face and he bit his lip.  “I d-drink to feel numb when everything g-gets overwhelming, you kn-know th-that, yeah?”

“Yes...”

“And to st-stop m-myself from st-st-stu-st... y-you know.”

“Mhmm.”

“Well sometimes when I d-drink too m-much, I get too numb, k-kind of stop f-feeling.  And that scares m-m-me,” Grantaire’s voice cracked and he fell forward, clinging to Feuilly and sobbing into his shoulder.  “It scares m-me, man, it s-scares m-me so f-fucking much.  What if I st-stop feeling?  I can’t d-do that, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Feuilly felt vaguely like his stomach had disappeared and he fought the urge to start crying as he rubbed soothing circles into his friend’s back.  “Shhh, R it’s alright, I’m here and you’re fine, do you feel this?  I’m here for you.”

A bitter laugh choked out wetly from somewhere by his shoulder and he felt Grantaire shaking his head.  “I know th-that now, but s-sometimes it feels like everything is g-gone, and I just need a p-pull b-back to reality.  I need to know that I’m st-still alive and h-here, and f-fuck, Feuilly I d-don’t know what to d-do anymore.”

“Whatever you decide, you aren’t doing it alone,” Feuilly carded his hands through Grantaire’s hair and felt the other man relax against him.  “You have me, and ‘Ponine; and Cosette back home, you are never alone.”

Grantaire lifted his head from its resting place, entire body slumping against the wall with exhaustion.  Feuilly rolled beside him, and hummed when his friend let his head drop down onto his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Grantaire breathed, eyes struggling to stay open as he felt the weight of his panic and the alcohol drag him toward sleep.

Feuilly smiled adjusting his position against the wall.   He regarded his friend fondly before telling him, “we don’t have to go back, you know; to the meeting.  We won’t do anything that you don’t want to.”

As Grantaire’s breaths evened out and he slipped deeper into slumber, he mumbled, “’s okay, m-might be g-good for m-me.”

This caused the man’s grin to widen, excited that his friend was giving this new kind of social life a chance.  He would wait until Grantaire was awake again to clarify this, though.  Feuilly wanted to be completely sure that R was alright with going to a second meeting before they went anywhere again. 

Only when the artist had succumbed to his tired body, finally falling asleep, did Feuilly look up.  From his place by the door, he still had a clear view of the beer scattering the floor, but he could also see the canvas Grantaire had been working with.  When he bumped into the easel, the painting must have fallen off. 

Covering the stretched material were heavy strokes of gold and blue, the beginnings of a figure hastily smeared over the background using a dark red.  Even though the lines were wobbly- probably due to Grantaire’ intoxicated state- the colours he used, as well as the vague shape of the red blob were immediately recognizable.  Feuilly sighed and began to re-evaluate his understanding of his friend’s situation.  It was obvious that he would have to factor in the man’s newfound feelings for a certain leader in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. A big thank you to my friend enjolgay who helped me edit this and let me type at her for an hour or so. As always, thoughts and criticism are welcome in the comments section. The next update should occur within a few weeks. :)


	6. Chapter 6

            Grantaire woke to a pounding headache and blinding light streaming into his room from the window. His mouth tasted vaguely like he ate a plate of rotting grapes and left them on his tongue to ferment all night. He briefly wondered whether a trip to the washroom to brush his teeth was worth the nausea that would be sure to ensue when a knock sounded at his door.

            “F-f-fuck off,” he growled, the effect of his snarl lost because of the rough cough that crept up from his chest.

            “Open the door, shithead,” Éponine’s voice trailed into Grantaire’s room, muffled by the door.

            He turned to face the general direction of her voice and said, “c-come in th-the-then, ‘t isn’t l-l-locked.” As he caught a flash of red on his nightstand, Grantaire felt a smile creep onto his face. Sitting on his bedside table were a bottle of water and two pills, Ibuprofen presumably. Feuilly was really a great roommate, and an awesome friend to boot.

            Éponine’s face appeared around the doorjamb just as Grantaire swallowed down the medication with a grimace. The feeling of liquid running down his throat wasn’t doing anything to dispel the gurgling of bile in his stomach.

           “Hey there, how are you feeling?” the bed sank down under Éponine’s weight as she sat on the edge of his bed. She wouldn’t meet Grantaire’s eyes, fiddling with the bed sheets instead. Grantaire winced in response to her too-loud words, thinking that uncomfortable was not a good look on her.

            “I’m ok-kay, j-j-just a b-bad night, y-you know?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            The question was rhetorical, of course Éponine knows. She was the one who usually sat with him through panic attacks and mood swings. Feuilly must have told her about Grantaire’s relapse, of course it would make her uneasy; she of all people knew what this meant for her friend. Addiction never really goes away; Grantaire wasn’t in denial, at that point he knew that he had been an alcoholic for quite some time; refusing to acknowledge it wouldn’t help his situation. Falling back to dependency would make his proverbial road to recovery just that much longer.

            Éponine scooted closer to the headboard and stroked a hand through Grantaire’s unruly curls.

            “You know that you can always talk to me, right, love?”

            “Of c-course I d-d-do...”

            She sighed and her hand stilled, “and you should probably do that before it comes to this?”

            This was the part Grantaire hated the most, the way people phrased statements as questions, not wanting to scare him away or some shit like that. He hated being treated like he was fragile, something to be handled with care.

            “Y-yeah, I know, it w-w-was j-just... s-sudden. I d-d-don’t kn-know...” Grantaire sat up and let his head fall forward onto Éponine’s shoulder. He immediately regretted the action as it sent a spike of pain shooting to the front of his head and made his stomach lurch.

            “Woah there, take it easy,” a steadying hand was placed in the middle of his chest. Grantaire looked up and caught a quick glimpse of his friend’s concerned face, her moving lips, before his vision swam before his eyes. He let his head fall again and groaned.

            There was a large pile of beer bottles stacked up amidst his canvases that was becoming very hard to ignore. It was obvious evidence that he definitely had had a lot to drink last night. Grantaire can’t remember the last time he felt like this. It usually took a lot for him to even get as drunk as he wanted, just to numb, much less feel sick from it.

            Éponine was saying something again and he struggled to find meaning in her words, “... best if you stay away from him for a while.”

            “Enjolras?” he mumbled against her shoulder.

            “Mhmm, I don’t know if going back to the meetings is a good idea right now.”

            “Wha- I n-n-never s-said anything ab-bout going t-t-to an-nother one, where’s th-th-this c-coming f-from?”

            “Well Cosette called this morning asking if we could meet up at one so she could see her brother and visit at the same time...”

            “That’s f-fine, I’ll j-j-ust- Th-that isn’t w-w-what th-this is ab-bout, is it?”

            Éponine’s eyes shifted to the canvas lying on Grantaire’s floor, bright streaks of gold and red layered blue tones in the background. That time he was not quite sure whether the nausea was a result of the hangover.

            “Oh.”

            “Feuilly said you were working on that before he came in last night.”

Grantaire felt like he had gone stone cold, his face tight, lips pulling downward. Ignoring the way bile rose up to his throat at the movement, he rolled out of bed. He took a paintbrush from the sludge-like paint water now spilled on his floor and strode over to the fallen artwork. Breath was beginning to catch in his chest and he tried to take a deep breath. Not a sound permeated the air as he set it carefully back on the easel. Grantaire closed his eyes and a pained expression flashed across his face as he raised the brush in his hand. _Breathe, just breathe._

In the next moment, Éponine was rushing forward when he began to slash the paint against his canvas, material staining dark. It was reminiscent of ugly purple-grey bruises blooming amongst the warm, dry paint.

Tears finally spilled and streaked down Grantaire’s face. A heartwrenching cry clawed itself from his throat just as Éponine reached him. The paintbrush clattered to the floor and Grantaire collapsed forward, sobs wracking his body. He felt Éponine’s arms circle him and squeeze tightly as he clung to the thin fabric of her shirt, rough under his fingertips.

“Shhh, it’s alright ‘Taire, it’s going to be okay,” she began to draw soothing circles on his back, continuing to murmur words of comfort into his ear.

            “I c-c-can’t do th-this, n-not n-n-now, I c-can’t...” Grantaire’s voice choked off and he buried his head into Éponine’s shoulder.

            “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she continued to whisper, quiet words behind which he could hear the reassurance, but that mattered little to him now.

            Grantaire fought to fill his lungs with air, coughing between sobs, “it n-never r-r-really is th-though, is it?”

            “Oh, ‘Taire...”

            The two sat curled up on Grantaire’s wooden floor for a long time as Éponine tried her best to soothe him, do anything to stop him from crying. It was a strange thing to see him like that, he was always so stoic and careful to hide his emotions. Not that he always succeeded, but for Grantaire to openly admit his troubles and weep into her shoulder... Well that was fairly new territory. As his breathing calmed, she could smell the beer, and a sharper tang of Vodka, _where the hell did he get that?_ , wafting toward her. He was obviously still drunk, not surprising for the amount of alcohol he consumed, and that was an odd feeling of relief. Grantaire’s meltdown was definitely the cause of intoxication, which meant that the situation wasn’t nearly as bad as she had first suspected. Hell, the man was still in a very bad place, but it wasn’t anything Éponine wasn’t sure that he could handle.

            She waited until he relaxed completely in her arms before carrying Grantaire back to his bed. He had fallen asleep, exhausted and dried tears streaked down his olive skin, leaving trails on his cheeks. When Éponine was sure that he was safe and not waking up any time soon, she left briefly to collect more painkillers from the bathroom. After leaving the medication on Grantaire’s nightstand, next to the half-filled water bottle, she ventured into the hallway to find Feuilly. He was sitting on the couch in his living room, absentmindedly playing with a tassel on the god-awful pillow that he insisted on keeping as a present from his last set of foster parents. The only decent ones he ever had, the man often joked.

            “What do we do?” Feuilly blurted out as soon Éponine took a seat on the cushion next to him.

            “Nothing,” she sighed, her hand searching out his, fingers intertwining. She felt comforted as he squeezed lightly in response, edging closer to her. “He needs to figure this out for himself, we need to support him, as usual, nothing more.”

            “I can’t just sit and watch him deteriorate again, there has to be something...”

            “No,” Éponine’s voice is firm and unbending. “We are not going to interfere, he’s not something for us to pick up, dust off, and _fix_.” She says the last word with a curl of her lip, leaving it to linger on her tongue.

            “You know that’s not what I meant, but there has to be a counsellor... I don’t know, someone he could talk to in confidence. We both know that he has his secrets and that might be part of the problem.”

            “Alright, I’ll make an appointment for him with the campus therapist and make sure that’s okay with him when he wakes up again.”

            “Thank you,” the two simple words were filled with gratitude. “I have another shift in like five minutes, I’ll see you later.”

            “Sure, go get ‘em, sexy,” Éponine kissed the man’s cheek before he stood up, smirking.

            “Yeah, no,” Feuilly laughed back at her as he fumbled in his pants pocket for his keys. “I’d rather not get fired for inappropriate conduct, I’m a librarian, not a pole dancer.”

            “But you _could_ be, with a body like that. Your stage name could be Ginger, I would pay to see that-”

            “Oh, screw off, and before you say anything, no. I’m not going to drag ‘Ferre into your imaginary shenanigans too.”

            “They may be imaginary, but they’re pretty damn hot,” Éponine called after Feuilly as he shook his head and locked the door behind him. She sunk back into the couch and let an exhale punch itself from her chest. The light-hearted banter had helped the mood for a few minutes, but the silence of the apartment bore down on her as soon as Feuilly left. She closed her eyes, the idea of a nap was a pleasant thought at the moment, and Grantaire would wake her if she slept too long.

Grantaire tiptoed past the couch, careful not to wake Éponine who was sleeping on his couch. He faintly recalled that there was a reason for her presence in his apartment but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Oh well, that hardly mattered, he just needed to make sure he didn’t startle her awake without a steaming cup of coffee to defend himself.

            He frowned as he entered the kitchen, there was a note stuck to the fridge. Grantaire peeled it off and the corners of his mouth turned farther downward as he recognized Éponine’s messy handwriting spelling out:

DR. MATTHIEU

5:45

ROOM 413

            The coffee machine had finished percolating, background noise stopping, and Grantaire tears his eyes away from the cryptic Post-it. He filled two mugs, dumping a few tablespoons of sugar into one of them. Rifling through the cupboards, Grantaire pulled out a flask that felt about half full. He took a tentative swig and shrugged, it didn’t taste too bad, was still usable. The entire contents of the container were swiftly poured into his mug and he tossed it into the sink with a metallic clang. Turning away from the kitchen, he stepped onto the carpeted surface in the living room. Once he reached the couch, he poked Éponine’s cheek, offering the cup in front of him.

            The girl snorted in response and blinked open, jumping when she saw Grantaire. Snatching the drink, she took a sip and regarded him carefully.

            “How are you feeling?” She jerked her head to the side and Grantaire took the seat next to her.

            “Alright, a b-b-bit h-hungov-ver, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder and sipped at his own coffee. “What’s with the note on the fridge? Is Feuilly alright?”

            “Yeah, he’s fine,” Éponine glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye. “It’s because of this morning... And last night.”

            “What h-happened?” confusion coloured Grantaire’s face.

            “You don’t remember?”

            The artist scratched at his palm, leaning his head back with a thoughtful expression on his face. Suddenly, he pulled his hand away, wincing as his nails caught the harsh, red crescent shapes decorating his skin. In that moment, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him and he groaned in response, burying his head in Éponine’s shoulder.

            A comforting hand stroked through his hair, “f-fuck, I was h-h-hoping th-that was all a n-nightmare or s-something.”

            “No,” Éponine whispered. “Feuilly and I are worried about you relapsing-”

            “M-moot point, I alr-ready d-d-did,” said Grantaire.

            “Yes, well whatever, fuckface,” Éponine smiled gently down at him. “We don’t want it getting worse or happening again, so I booked an appointment with a student counsellor.”

            The man’s head shot up at this and he retreated into the corner of the couch. Grabbing a pillow to hug, he said softly, “Y-you know h-h-how I f-feel about sh-shrinks, ‘P-Ponine.

            “That’s why I got this guy, he’s part of a group of med students who have majored in psychology,” she began, “they volunteer as therapists for other students who don’t want to see a doctor or just need to talk. So he’s like a baby shrink, not as scary.”

            “I d-don’t know...” Grantaire toyed with his lip.

            “Can you try going to at least one meeting?” when Grantaire hesitated, Éponine smirked before fluttering her eyelashes, “For _me_?”

            “You’re a l-little shit, y-y-you kn-know that?” her friend laughed and nodded his consent.

            “Perfect,” she clapped her hands together. “You’re first appointment is this Saturday, don’t be late.”

            “Yeah, s-sure,” Grantaire waved his hand at her. “But what the fuck kind of name is M-Matthieu?”  
            “I don’t know, sounds French.”

            “Y-yeah, your n-name is F-French too,” he rolled his eyes. “It s-sounds p-pretentious, h-he’s probably s-s-some s-snobby wanna-be d-doctor.”

            “Don’t knock him ‘til you him,” Éponine winked. “Who knows, he might be hot, you guys could role-play ‘doctor’.”

            “Y-yeah, not m-my k-kink.”

            “And lord knows you have plenty of those.”

            “’s n-not m-my fault m-m-my sex l-life will b-be amazing.”

            “Key words are ‘will be’, love,” this earned Éponine a slap to her shoulder. “At least mine exists right now and I’ll have you know, it’s amazing.”

            “W-wow, it’s a g-good thing F-Feuilly isn’t h-h-here t-to hear th-that,” Grantaire laughed and snuggled back up next to his friend.

            “Oh, by the way,” Éponine shifted down on the cushion to give the artist a more comfortable angle. “I don’t know if you remember, but I mentioned that Cosette is coming up to see us in a few weeks.”

            “I vaguely r-remember s-s-something about that.”

            “Okay, well she wants to meet us at the Musain so that she can catch up with her brother and meet all of our friends at the same time, is that alright?” Éponine tilted Grantaire’s chin so that they were making eye contact.

            He nodded, “Th-that sounds r-r-reasonable...”

            “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine, Feuilly and-”

            “I s-said it’s okay,” he was getting irritated.

            “I’m sorry,” Éponine let go of him and turned to face Feuilly’s wall of DVDs. “I’m just worried about you, I don’t want you pushing yourself or something.”

            Grantaire sighed, “I kn-know, ‘m s-sorry. I’ll l-let you know if I n-n-need to l-leave or s-something, ‘kay?”

            “Okay.”

            The two friends sat in silence for a moment before Grantaire started fidgeting.

            “Hey, Ép?”

            “Mmm?”

            “C-can I ask you a f-f-favour?”

            Éponine glanced over, “Always, shoot.”

            “I... I don’t kn-know if I c-c-can d-deal with Enjolras right n-now. I just... C-can you... M-Make s-s-sure I d-don’t h-have to t-t-talk to h-him or anything?”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll keep his pert little righteous ass away from you,” she kissed Grantaire on top of his head and pointed the remote at the television. “There’s another Harry Potter marathon on ABC, you game?”

            “Of c-course, wh-when have I ever t-t-turned d-down HP?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A GIANT thank you to Grrranjolras who has begun doing some intense editing of the first few chapters. I've fixed a lot of errors thanks to her impeccable eye and added some more allusions to Grantaire's crush on Enj in chapter 3. As well, shout out to enjolgay who continues to edit chapters at all hours of the night or day, complete with amazing commentary. <3
> 
> The next chapter will delve more into Grantaire's POV and explain some of the things he said in this chapter, as well as going into detail about why he asked Éponine to keep Enj away during next meeting. Stay tuned for another update that should happen in a week or two. As always, comments, suggestions, and criticism are always welcome. :)


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